


TwinsxIronhide

by Anonmemeproject



Series: Transformers Anon Kink Meme - non sticky fills [10]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:01:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22010746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonmemeproject/pseuds/Anonmemeproject
Summary: By: AnonymousSeptember 2 2009, 05:24:09 UTCLink: https://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/1174.html?thread=656022#t656022Prompt: Most bots don't know this (twins are pretty secretive), but twins need to interface with each other (or other mechs, if they can't get to each other) at least once a day. If they don't, the energy buildup inside of them isn't released properly, leaving them feeling overly emotional and weakened physically.Want to see: Sideswipe still being repaired and Sunstreaker holding off until the last minute... only to be found and "helped" by Ironhide.
Relationships: Ironhide/Sideswipe, Ironhide/Sideswipe/Sunstreaker, Ironhide/Sunstreaker
Series: Transformers Anon Kink Meme - non sticky fills [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1542844
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	TwinsxIronhide

**Author's Note:**

> Authors note: Movieverse because that's what I know, and tactile because we totally don't have enough non-sticky around here (three pages vs one? Sadface)

Sunstreaker snarled, slamming his talons into a helpless wall. Energy raced through his circuits, blipping tiny warnings and suggestive ideas in his main processor that made it hard to think. He was revved up, running way too hot; not an uncommon thing for his build, but it always got so much worse after a battle. But Sideswipe was in Ratchet's semi-tender care, too injured after that last battle to help burn off the excess. Hound, Sunstreaker's usual partner when he had been separated from Sideswipe for so long, was busy fussing Prowl into getting his injuried tended to, so he was out. Trailbreaker... slag, on the mainland still, helping with Decepticon disposal. And Tracks was still over-torqued about the whole wax incident, and really, the slagger needed to remove his head from his exhaust and admit he was wrong.

Razor-sharp talons dug into the wall, prying out chunks of rough concrete and Primus, the humans used such weak building materials. But the gouges in the stuff just reminded him of the gouges he'd left in Decepticon armor not an orn ago, of hot energon on his hands and his brother laughing across their bond as they tore apart mechs and shattered sparks and he was pretty sure he was about two ticks from storming medical and interfacing his brother right into a regrowth chamber, Ratchet be damned.

A heavy hand on his shoulder, yanking him back, and he stumbled, too-hot engine making him unsteady. He lashed out, claws scraping black armor, and the hand turned to a fist, knocking him on his aft. Heat-want-anger flared in his wiring when he struck the ground, only growing when a foot caught him in the mid-section, pinning him down. "What did the wall ever do to you?" a rough voice demanded.

Oh noes! ignore that other reply, I somehow or other removed the entire middle of the story. Possible for someone to delete it?

\---

Sunstreaker blinked back static from his optics, forcing himself to focus and not just maim in a blind rage. Ironhide loomed over him, centering his weight carefully to hold instead of crush, hot disapproval and annoyance and a little glimmer of concern in his optics. Sunstreaker wrapped both hands around Ironhide's ankle, tickling the almost-delicate joint in a not-so-subtle warning. "Let me go."

"I shouldn't have even been able to pin you," Ironhide returned with mild disgust, stepping back and reaching down to haul Sunstreaker to his pedes. "You're running too hot, you didn't hear me come up on you, and you're carving up our base. What's your glitch?"

"My glitch is that Sideswipe is in medical," Sunstreaker growled, more annoyed with himself than anything else right then, because Ironhide was right. He was so worked up that Megatron himself could probably walk in and start shooting and he would barely notice. "And everyone else I 'face with isn't here to help out, so unless you want to do something about it, go smelt your head."

Ironhide went through a rather visual sequence of confusion-surprise-suspicion that would have been hilarious any other orn. Sunstreaker only barely noticed, because he was a little busy sorting out his tangled-up thoughts. The part of him punching himself mentally, for almost-kinda-maybe-if-you-looked-right soliciting the old warrior, was fighting with the part that said that a mech that old probably knew all of the tricks, and he probably gave every bit as good as he got, and oh Primus, he was actually considering this seriously now. With Ironhide.

Ironhide was still squinting at him, probably trying to figure out what Sunstreaker's game was, and the smaller mech decided that caution and propriety and anything else that usually kept him from hitting on his commanding officers could go rust. He wrapped his fingers around the arched guards in the middle of Ironhide's chest and shoved back, hooking his foot around the big mech's ankle. Ironhide yelled and they went down, a gray hand dragging Sunstreaker along for the ride. Ironhide rolled them as they fell, using superior mass and Sunstreaker's own imbalance to pin him again, wrists at his sides and tires against his thighs. 

Desire flooded Sunstreaker's processor, making his engine roar and he arched his back as much as he could. Comprehension spread across Ironhide's face plates, and Sunstreaker watched with detached amusement as all the pieces clicked in Ironhide's head; the rather suggestive position, the heat radiating up from golden armor, the way Sunstreaker was wiggling under him. A frown slammed into place, and Ironhide started to get up again. "You can't be serious," he said, shaking his head, but Sunstreaker had already seen the want in the older mech and he wasn't taking 'no' for an answer. 

When Ironhide let go of his hands, Sunstreaker rolled up and sprung at him again, crashing Ironhide over on his back. "You shouldn't turn down a gift when it's offered," Sunstreaker growled, straddling Ironhide's waist and flexing his claws against his headlights.

Ironhide snorted in derision, even as he shivered under those claws. "You think you're so good you're a gift now?" he drawled, but he wasn't throwing Sunstreaker off, which was a good thing. Ratchet or the Prime or even that little pede-sniffer Bumblebee would have chucked him off by now, but Ironhide had never let stupid things like rank and position keep him from what he wanted. And judging by the way Ironhide kept shifting into his claws like that, what he wanted wasn't too far off from what Sunstreaker wanted.

"Damn straight," Sunstreaker shot back, digging into the crease between headlight and turn signal. Ironhide made an interesting choking noise, and Sunstreaker grinned wickedly. "Not every mech gets to enjoy what I have to offer."

"Only everyone you outrank," Ironhide countered, rolling them again. Sunstreaker snarled and raked ugly lines across Ironhide's shoulder, only to have his hands caught and slammed down above his head. "You're lucky I don't care about a few scratches," Ironhide rumbled dangerously. "Too bad you don't feel the same."

"Don't you dare," Sunstreaker warned. "You scratch my coat, and I'll-" His threat turned into a hissing moan when Ironhide scraped harsh fingers across Sunstreaker's chest, the squeal of metal on metal painfully loud. Sunstreaker roared Cybertronian curses, struggling against the hand and bulk that pinned him, writhing under the that-shouldn't-feel-so-good fingers scratching glyphs into his chest armor. After a moment and a few choice dirty words etched into golden armor, Ironhide dropped his hand lower, digging under Sunstreaker's chest plates. Sunstreaker's cursing turned into a brief wail, and he bucked wildly when Ironhide started to toy with the feeds into his spark chamber.

With a painful wrench, Sunstreaker yanked his arm loose, and he shoved his hand deep into Ironhide's armor, scratching energon lines and transformation nodes. Ironhide shuddered above him, optics narrowed in challenge and the assault beneath Sunstreaker's armor doubled. Sunstreaker grinned again and returned fire, digging into thin tubing with just less than enough force to damage, made all the more dangerous by the way he was shaking with excess currents. Ironhide's low, growly moan was like a fresh high-grade hit, and it took all he had to not overload right there.

Ironhide's spark chamber was too well protected to do what Ironhide was doing to him; pinching at the flanges where energon pipes met the casing, dragging rough fingers along the gray-green metal, and it was with a faint dismay that Sunstreaker realized he was going to lose this one, badly. Maintaining coherance was becoming more and more difficult and he gave up pleasuring Ironhide in favor of just clinging to some internal strut, curses that sounded like praise falling from his throat. Ironhide looked too smug and victorious, and he'd pay for that, as soon as Sunstreaker was able to think in parallel processes again, but for the moment all he could do was hold on and quake and moan and climb up to that peak, almost there, almost-

A wheeled foot caught Ironhide directly in the face, knocking him back and away, and Sunstreaker screamed in pure rage at his denied overload. Silver hands around his torso and a long body against his back and an engine as powerful and hot as his own pressed up against him just right and when the Pit had Sideswipe gotten out of medical? "Couldn't even wait for me?" Sideswipe demanded, digging into his undercarriage with both hands, anger-love-lust-need filtered over their bond. "I could feel everything you were doing, you slagger; I was about to drag First Aid down and learn him something."

Sunstreaker laughed harshly. "Should have. It'd do him good." Ironhide was righting himself, face thunderous, and Sunstreaker didn't even bother sending his brother his intentions; all he'd have to do was start moving and Sideswipe would be right there. They shot forward side by side, tackling Ironhide over onto his back again, better at moving together without a thought than they ever were separate and thinking. Ironhide bellowed something, going down with a resounding crash, and Sunstreaker straddled Ironhide's thigh. Sideswipe mirrored him, only slightly hesitant, but he followed willingly enough when Sunstreaker jammed both hands beneath Ironhide's chest armor again.

For the briefest of moments, Ironhide was perfectly still, shock-pain-want as clear as a glyph on his face. Only for a moment, though, before he had one hand on Sideswipe's shoulders and the other in Sunstreaker's middle, steady as a rock despite the multiple hands plucking at his wiring and Ironhide always had kept his head when it mattered. This close to Sideswipe, Sunstreaker felt everything double and triple; what he felt, and what Sideswipe felt, and what he felt about what Sideswipe felt and back and forth until the space between them pulsed with heavy, overlapping signals that could make a mech with the right sensors dizzy. 

Everything built up too fast, currents and signals and shared thoughts piling up into a potentially damaging cascade with no time to savor any of it. Sunstreaker ruthlessly ended the warning program in his processor, riding the cresting wave of ecstasy-agony until it broke, shattered, and he couldn't tell if he had overloaded first or if his brother had. It didn't matter; they were both arched into curves of precious metals, twinned screams echoing across Diego Garcia while lightning coursed through their bodies, finding a ground in Ironhide and triggering the old mech's own overload.

A forced reboot of his optics was necessary to clear the static before Sunstreaker sat up, his entire body protesting the movement. Sideswipe looked equally ruined beside him, draped over Ironhide's hip with a dopey grin. Ironhide was, quite unfairly, fine, already sitting up and almost-gently tumbling them out of his lap. "Overclocked glitches," he muttered, shaking his head and hauling himself to his feet. He paused just before he was upright, his optics flickering, and he chuckled deep in his chest. "Prime is patiently waiting to bitch me out for traumatizing the humans," he informed the twins. "As your superior, I should have never let this happen, and so forth. I plan on telling him exactly what he's missing." Clearly amused, he stepped over Sunstreaker's outstretched legs and headed for the command bunker.

Sideswipe sat upright, looking at Sunstreaker in disbelief. "Ironhide, Suns?" he demanded. "Really?"

"Shut up," Sunstreaker spat, rubbing at the stinging glyphs scratched into his chest. Ironhide had terrible calligraphy, and a particularly evil vocabulary. "I wasn't exactly thinking straight."

Sideswipe swatted Sunstreaker's hand out of the way, peered at the glyphs, and hooted in delight. "Well, you need to think crooked more often, because we are so doing that again."


End file.
